


Sauce Night

by thorhugs



Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: Author might be literally satan, Found Families, Gen, Grieving, Sauce Night, have tissues ready, the author apologizes in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorhugs/pseuds/thorhugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in Graceland is getting ready for the holidays, so Charlie declares a special sauce night in celebration. But tragedy strikes in the worst possible way. Set a few months after the end of season 3, except Jakes never left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sauce Night

For the first time since Mike returned to the house, it felt like an equilibrium had been found. They all took cases that didn’t consume them completely. Bringing down drug dealers, untangling smuggling operations, tracking weapons. They hadn’t seen a real mess since they brought down the Armenians. Even Jakes seemed content, in his own way.

They created a new house rule: no more than two of them working close on a case for an extended time. No more cases requiring the whole house be involved. No more stepping on each other’s toes. The fact that they could shrug off most of Briggs’ attempts at manipulation helped, too. Now they were all gearing up for the holidays. They even set up a tree, at least half of the ornaments from Charlie’s hideous acquisitions. They would all be gone over the holiday itself, as they’d managed to manipulate their cases so they could be away. Mike even managed to be between cases so he was slated to take his first ever vacation since graduating high school. Two full work free weeks in Virginia.

“Alright, alright!” Charlie declared, holding up her hands to quiet everyone gathered in the livingroom. “I’ll do a sauce night before Mikey cruelly abandons us.” They had been trying to find a way to celebrate the holiday that they could all enjoy. With both both Johnny and Jakes there, the notion of a celebration was dramatically varied.

The room fell quiet and Charlie looked rather proud of herself. “But you lot gotta pick the day.”

“I’m leaving on the nineteenth,” Mike said, offering a vague shrug. “So anything before that.”

“But we gotta make it as close to Christmas as possible!” Johnny added.

An argument erupted, everyone interjecting their plan, talking on top of one another, gesturing at each other. That is, until Charlie’s voice cut through it all again. “You wanna say that again?” She gestured at Briggs.

“I’m out on the fourteenth,” he said simply. “Couldn’t get a later flight, so I had to change my day.”

“You shitting me?” Her expression and tone walked a fine line between irritation and indifference. At the same time, Johnny said, “C’mon, man!”

Briggs held up his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is we should do it on the thirteenth.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little short notice?” Charlie looked as though she considered slapping him.

“Four days is enough, isn’t it?” He offered her a tight smile.

“Barely.” She leaned back with a sigh, still focused on him. “Fine. Sauce night on the thirteenth.”

Cheer spread through the room, but no one was happier than Johnny who let out a whoop and leaned toward Charlie. “Does this mean we get to hear the story?”

“Don’t I always tell the story?”

But Mike wasn’t listening to them banter. His eyes narrowed at Briggs. Wasn’t he driving up the coast for the holidays? Some buddhist zen thing. That’s what he’d said before. So which was the lie? Neither mattered to the house, overall. So why lie one way or another? If he looked hard enough, he might see the strings.

***

The next evening, as Mike came home from a debriefing of his latest case, he found Charlie in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. Johnny and Jakes leaned on the opposite side of the island, watching like a pair of eager dogs waiting for scraps. Well, Johnny was eager. Jakes was at least the appearance of patient.

“For the last time, no story until everyone’s here,” she warned. She gestured at Johnny with knife.

“They’ve all heard it before,” Johnny said as he hunkered down on the table. “They won’t mind.”

“You’ve heard it just as much.” She smacked his hand as he reached in an attempt to steal a piece of tomato. “Hands off!”

“Yeah, Johnny. Behave yourself,” Jakes said so flat, it was hard to tell if he was serious or not.

“And you.” Charlie pointed her knife at Mike where he stood just watching this play out.

“Me?” he held up his hands in innocent surrender.

“All of you.” She swept the tip of her knife to take in the three of them, before returning to chopping. “You’re gonna be on your best behavior, cause I’m not gonna be here most of tomorrow. “

“You mean you’re not camping on the couch?” Johnny perked up at this.

“This is what happens when we do sauce night last minute. Mikey, I’m trusting you to make sure there’s no early tasting.”

Mike nodded. “I’ll keep Johnny in line.”

“Seriously?” Johnny scoffed. “I’m feeling so attacked right now, bro.”

“Yes. Seriously,” Charlie said. She scooped up the vegetables, sliding them into the simmering pot. “You know the rules. No tasting, no sampling. Three full days. And only then do you get the story and the sauce. No sooner.”

“Not even the tiniest bit about Francesca?” Johnny asked, squinting between thumb and forefinger held close together. “Just a sentence. C’mon.”

Charlie firmly set the lid on the pot. “In three days,” she said again. With a decisive gesture, she set the timer, ignoring Johnny’s dramatic scoff.

“I thought your case was wrapped up,” Mike said. “Anything I need to know about this thing tomorrow?”

“Loose ends, nothing to worry about.” She dumped the cutting board and knife in the sink. “Actually.” She planted her hands on the edge of the sink as she looked to Mike. “I could use someone running ops, just in case. You up for it?”

Mike spread his hands. “Depends on the details.”

“Let’s talk about it upstairs. C’mon.” She pushed away from the sink, and started out of the kitchen. “Enjoy the dishes, Johnny!”

“What?” He sounded distracted, looking up with his hand hovering over the lid of the pot.

“Your turn.” Jakes said. “Dishes. Chore wheel?” 

“Nah, man! My week’s over!”

“Change over’s tomorrow,” Charlie said. “Then Mikey takes over.”

Mike started to protest, but stopped before he made a sound. His lips pressed together, head bowed. Yet again, sauce night would fall during his week with the dishes. Would Briggs seriously fabricate a flight to ensure Mike would be stuck with the mountain of dishes again? With a resigned slump of his shoulders, he motioned for Charlie to lead the way.

***

The case ended up being a standard drug bust. Charlie had been working on this one for a while and thought she might have a chance to take the guy down just in time for the holidays. But there was only a 50/50 chance of getting the guy on this visit. Regardless, they set up a plan. Mike would head the team and have her back. They chose “white Christmas” as their code word. It seemed straight textbook for a buy, as far as Mike could see. But it wasn’t.

They had their guy on the hook. Everything was going fine, even if the guy was suspicious. Mike told everyone to hold back. He trusted Charlie to handle it. She always had a cool head in these situations. But then something happened, a shift that they hadn’t seen coming.

“Grab her,” the dealer said.

“What gives?!” Charlie demanded.

Mike held up a hand, hesitant. Everyone should be ready.

“Give me that.” The dealer.

“What…” Charlie. “No. I--WHIT--”

“GO!” Mike barked, that was close enough for him. “GO GO GO!”

_Blam._

Mike froze as the men rushed toward the house. No. Let her her be alright. Say something, Charlie. Come on.

There was a cough. Voices too muffled to hear. Then the feed went dead. 

Tearing out his earpiece, Mike ran toward the house. The door was already broken from its hinges. Three men were in handcuffs. Charlie lay on the floor. Not moving. Blood pooling around her.

“Call an ambulance!” Mike shouted, checking for a pulse.

***

It was well after midnight that Mike finally made it back to the house. Everything from the moment of the gunshot seemed like a blur. He didn’t even remember his drive home. One moment he was running for the house, and the next he was greeted with an over enthusiastic “Mikey Mike!” as Johnny popped up from the couch. He immediately followed with “....where’s Charlie?”

“...she’s not coming home…” Mike managed, stepping around Johnny. He could only think in the most truncated, direct manner possible. Shower. Bed. Sleep. Straying from that resulted in unpleasant things.

“What? Like...an overnight mission?” Johnny trotted backwards to stay in Mike’s path. “I thought it was just a standard bust. Which apparently it’s not cause you look like shit, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Again, Mike tried to step around him. Shower. Bed. Sleep.

“No. Not yeah. What is it? Let’s start with why Charlie’s not coming home.”

“She’s dead.” Saying it broke something open inside him. He looked to the other agent, unshed tears burning in his eyes. “They shot her, Johnny.”

***

It was not news to share over breakfast. But there was no point delaying it. Mike and Johnny barely slept. They waited until the others woke and and their coffee. There were questions about their state, why they were so quiet. Paige asked if they’d stayed up all night drinking, seeing the empty bottle on the table. It hadn’t been a party.

Gathered in the living room, Mike told them what had happened. He used the most clinic, straight-forward language as possible. As if he were rehearsing for writing his report. Smiles and jokes faded. Jakes tried to say “you can’t be serious.” Paige said nothing. Briggs left the room in sudden burst.

Silence fell over the entire house. A house usually filled with chatter and noise. Whether preparing for missions or meals, coming or going, drinking contests or serious work. But now it was just silent but for the distant crash of waves. No one really looked at each other, though Mike could swear they were all boring holes into the back of his head any time he was in the same room.

It was his fault. He should have been in there with her. He could have stopped it. They were right to blame him. No one had said a word, but he could see it in the way they didn’t look at him. They blamed him as much as he blamed himself.

The next day, everyone was downstairs. No one was helping or looking at one another. No one said a word. Mike poured over files at the table, trying to not be hyper aware of just where everyone was. Trying to ignore the gaping hole where someone should be.

_DING!_

Slowly, everyone looked up at one another, gazes darting. All asking the same thing. What was that?

“The sauce,” Came Johnny’s voice. Devastation in place of his usual exuberance. 

Paige looked over her shoulder at the pot that had been simmering on the stove. They’d forgotten about it. Slowly, everyone stood, even Mike. He cleared the table of work, instead laying out six places without question. Plates were laid out. Pasta boiled. Not a word was said. 

Briggs carried the bowl to the table. He’d even laid out the basil leaves on top. Just like Charlie would. They all sat down. Gazes flicking toward the empty seat. No one touched the sauce. No one said a word. 

Until. “It was the end of an age of virtue…” Johnny said, his voice unsteady. “And the authorities shuddered as immorality and hedonism intensified.” He hesitated, clearing his throat.

“The Pope declared an end to Protestantism,” Briggs continued when Johnny fell silent. “People swept through Italy--”

“Italia,” corrected Jakes, his tone softer than Mike had ever heard it.

Briggs just gave a vague nod. “People swept through Italia like a flood. Their cruelty was boundless. But time passed....” His lips pressed together and he took a slow, unsteady breath.

“As time passed,” Paige jumped in, “Transgressors realized there would be no reprieve. Francesca ran the--”

Jakes cut her off with a wave of his hand, leaning closer over the table. “Her great-grandmother’s great-grandmother’s great-grandma ran the kitchen at the Cathedra di Napoli…” His tone remained soft, his words slow. As if wanting to savor the story for as long as he could. “Her name was Francesca.”

“Francesca was preparing her famous ragu for the Inquisitors,” Johnny said, softly, looking down at the table. “There was a knock at the cathedral door…” He cleared his throat as Jakes rapped his knuckles on the table.

“Niccolo, a cordwainer--” Briggs started.

“A _handsome_ cordwainer,” Johnny corrected.

Briggs just gave him a look and continued. “--begging for for sanctuary from the Inquisition.”

“She knew he faced torture or death,” Paige stepped in again. “so she hid him in the pantry, promising to keep the sauce--”

“Ragu,” Jakes corrected.

“Promising to keep the ragu warm until the local vicar--”

“Or archdeacon,” Johnny muttered.

“--declared the city cleansed,” Paige added as if he hadn’t spoken.

“After three long days,” Jakes picked up, “the Inquisitors finally left Napoli.”

“Niccolo survived on the promise and smell of the ragu,” Johnny added. 

“They fell in love…” Briggs said, his voice barely audible. “...and vowed to pass on the sauce to their--” His voice broke and he swallowed hard, but pushed through. “--children. And their children’s….children….”

Paige reached out to rest a hand on his wrist as he bowed his head.

“...until the end of days…” Mike finally said, his voice tight. He felt Johnny’s hand squeeze his shoulder, but he didn’t look up.

No one said another word. No one moved. Mike tried to lift his gaze, but he got no further than the bowl in the middle of the table. But that was fine, because that’s as far as anyone else got. Because this was all that was left, now that the story was done. 

Briggs broke the silence, clearing his throat. He rose to his feet, taking up the ladle for the bowl. “To Charlie,” he said, his tone reverent.

“To Charlie…” everyone else said, their combined voices barely louder than his.

They ate and talked, taking their time. The silence broken for now. No one seemed quite ready to finish their plates. Stories were shared. Of the good and the bad. All that was Charlie. A few laughs were heard around the table, finally. Some of Johnny’s spark started showing through. But soon the inevitable came. Jakes had reached for another helping of sauce, but found there was barely one left, and everyone fell silent again.

Without a word, Mike stood, all eyes on him. He picked up the bowl from the middle fo the table and moved to the empty seat with its empty plate. He settled a small portion of pasta on the plate. With a slow and heavy breath, he picked up the ladle, pouring the last of the sauce onto the noodles. He set the bowl down and rested his hands on the back of the chair. “...to Charlie,” he said again, his head bowed.

The words were repeated with more volume than the last time, glasses thrust toward the ceiling. 

A hand clapped Mike on the shoulder, and he glanced up to see Briggs beside him. “You did what you could, man.”

Mike just nodded, looking down at the chair. 

It was never going to be the the same.

They would never have another sauce night.

**Author's Note:**

> When my roommate watched Graceland kept saying how awful it would be if Charlie died in the middle of making her sauce. He brought it up both times sauce night happens in canon, and every time I've made my own spaghetti since. So for Christmas, I made it happen for him.


End file.
